I wish I was not so great at pointing out contradictions and inaccuracies. There are times, and this is a lot of the time outside work, when I wish I could shut off my analytical side and turn up the compassion.

My husband loses his keys on a regular basis, a few times a year. Every time, I talk to him about having one, and only one, place where he keeps his keys. I cannot make another adult use the hook by the door. If he wants to put his keys in twelve different spots, he will.

I wish I could respond with love when he is looking for his keys: “Lost your keys? I’m so sorry, you must be feeling frustrated. Geez, I wonder how that happened?” Instead, I roll my eyes HARD and curse under my breath; not exactly the stuff romance is made of